After The Fire
by EDZEL2
Summary: The Master didn't get pulled back into the time lock with Rassilon... and an ailing Doctor has been mistaken for a regenerated Master by a would-be UNIT medic...


AFTER THE FIRE BY EDZEL2 1 OCT 2010

Title: After the Fire

Author: Edzel2

Genre: Dr Who

Rating: K

Setting: Post-TEOT

Summary: The Master didn't get pulled back into the time lock with Rassilon... and an ailing Doctor has been mistaken for a regenerated Master by a would-be UNIT medic...

After The Fire (1/?)

**F**or long moments it's all the Master can do to continue breathing as sudden white-hot pain lacerates every nerve-ending and blinds his vision. He's in what feels like free-fall and has no idea where or when he might be or if he's even corporeal any more. When at last the pain eases to a more bearable level (or at least to a point where he doesn't feel like screaming with the sheer agony of it) and he can order his thoughts a little, he supposes that he _must_ still be alive in some sense of the word – he's still sentient, at least. But what of his body...? He must have one; where else would the pain be coming from? Unless it's a phantom, perhaps – a whole body destroyed but somehow the mind continues to feel nerve endings where there are none... the process of thought continuing without corporeal form... interesting. So... the Final Sanction, then? Which means the Doctor must have failed...

His thoughts drift for a while, swirling gently to and fro as if washed by a lazy tide. Wherever he is, it's very peaceful, he realises dreamily. No light, no sound, no – wait! There's something about that thought he should hold onto, but what? Light... or the lack thereof... if he doesn't have eyes then that would explain the absence of visible light. So why does he feel as if he's surrounded by the white nothingness of a zero room? Impossible, and yet... _no_, that's not it. What else? _Sound_ – there's no sound. Yes, that's it, isn't it... but what about _that_ thought is so important? Sound; come on, come on... _think!_ Which _sound_ is he missing?

And then it hits him, at exactly the same moment that the sudden agony of returning sensation sets fresh fire to nerve endings which now he knows still exist; he feels the unyielding hardness of a marble floor under his body and the pain of it sets him gasping for breath and he would scream if he had the strength but he feels so weak now and everything is fading again to blackness... and it's quiet, _so_ quiet; only the sound of his own tortured breathing and his hearts beating; dum-dum-dum-dum, dum-dum-dum-dum... His lips try to form the words to but it's impossible and he slides into the blessedness of darkness without pain and welcomes it.

'**...T**hrough here... I thought I heard someone cry out...'

The voice brings the Master back to full consciousness and he opens his eyes to a scene of utter devastation; shards of glass all over the black and white marble floor, the bitter acrid smell of burned out circuitry and the spitting sound of electrical instruments shorting out. Dust and grit scurry across the floor, governed by the movement of air from the gaping hole in the shattered glass roof of Naismith's Gate Room.

_I'm alive!_ He's lying face down on the marble floor but recognises the black and white pattern immediately, and realises as he turns his face to the side and looks up that he's lying under the partially collapsed Immortality Gate mechanism itself. This no doubt accounts for the fact that he hasn't yet been discovered, but judging by the crunch of footsteps on glass and the sounds of human conversation he's unlikely to remain that way for much longer.

'Oh, thank gawd – here, here...'

The Master's ears prick up at the sound of the old man's voice; the Doctor's aged companion...what was his name? _Wilfred_. He sounds to be in considerable distress, and the Master can't help feeling a spark of pleasure at the thought. That the Doctor would choose the fragile old human as a companion only serves to demonstrate how feeble he himself has become... the Master's thoughts stumble to a halt as he hears the old man's next words;

'It's my friend here, the Doctor, he's collapsed. Can you help him? He's been in that thing, it glowed red and he collapsed but then he seemed alright until ... oh dear.'

In spite of himself, the Master is alarmed. What in Omega's grave has the stupid fool got himself into now? He suppresses a snort of irritation; he hadn't given the Doctor an option to step aside only for him to go and get himself killed some other way; _typical_. He refuses to be frightened by the little voice in his head which whispers to him; _on your own, now_. Because he's always been on his own, hasn't he? But he needs to move, to get out of Naismith's mansion before he's discovered and no doubt arrested for the crimes 'Harold Saxon' committed. He needs to _regenerate_, damn it! He grits his teeth as a fresh wave of pain washes over him.

'What's his name, sir?'

'Uh... I only know him as The Doctor...' Wilf stammers. 'I know he doesn't look as if he's hurt but he... he was in that booth there, he said there was radiation...'

The rest of the old man's words fade into the background as the meaning of what he's saying slowly penetrates the agony flowing around the Master's mind. The nuclear bolt – The Doctor had exposed himself to that? _The damn fool..._ The Master's heart sinks and he drops his forehead back onto the marble floor, barely noticing one more pain as a shard of glass breaks the skin. That's it, then. No-one - not even a Time Lord in the peak of physical fitness- can survive that kind of dosage. And the Doctor had been very far from in the best of health, either mental or physical, in spite of his lean physique; the Master had seen the weariness in his eyes, seen the drag in his footsteps. Something significant has happened to the Doctor since events on the Valiant; something which has taken the fire from his belly and rendered him lost and fearful. His cry to the Master that first time in the Wastelands hadn't been so much an offer of help as a cry _for _it; 'I need to help you to help myself,' would have been more honest in the Master's opinion. It had been the main reason that he'd kept running – wanting the Doctor, yes, but not this impotent version of the Oncoming Storm he'd found so thrilling –and yes, terrifying, for just one short moment - last time around.

'Can you hear me? What's your name, sir?' There is the sound of medical bags being opened and the soft murmurs of one professional to another as – the Master assumes, since he can't actually see anything from his restricted vantage point- the humans use their primitive equipment to find out what is wrong with their patient. He counts down the seconds before they discover –

'Wait, what's this? Blimey... Alan, would you check that for me? I'm getting an echo here...'

'What sort of – ah. Sounds like another ... Bloody hell. I know what –or who- this is!'

'What d' you mean?'

'It's that bloke, isn't it – I heard about him – he's an alien. Used to be Prime Minister, what was his name...'

'Prime Minister? I don't recognise him...'

'No, you wouldn't, that's just it, see? He can change his appearance. I had a mate who was at Canary Wharf when it went up; he worked for Torchwood. They know all about his kind - he comes from some planet where people don't die, they just swap their bodies for a new one.'

'Now hang on a minute... the Doctor's never been Prime Minister...' The Master is trying hard to contain his glee when Wilf's worried tones threaten to spoil his mood.

'Well, that's what he _wants_ us to think, doesn't he? Now look, he's not responding, he's got two hearts and he's not even human. We need to call in the experts.'

The Master lifts his forehead from the floor, wincing as the pain of the flesh wound bites.

'What, Torchwood?' The second medic says.

'No, don't be daft – they don't exist anymore; UNIT, mate. I applied for a job with them last month, still waiting to hear. This could be my way in... Let's get him stretchered up and out of here, and I'll get in touch with them.'

'Hey, hey, what're you talking about? You can't just whisk him off like that to God knows where!' Wilf's tone is indignant.

'I'm afraid we can, sir – national security, see.'

'But – he's just saved all our lives! You can't go arresting him like he was some... some criminal!'

'We're not 'arresting' him, sir – we're just handing him over to the people who'll know how best to look after him. We sure as hell don't.'

There's a sudden moan from a voice the Master knows – the Doctor. He's coming around. The Master tells himself that he could leave now, should get away while he can; but with all the broken glass around him to give away his retreat, he's probably far safer where he is, at least for now... but the reality is that he wants to know what's going to happen next. The irony of the Doctor being mistaken for him is not lost on the Master and he grins at the floor – then shivers as another spasm of pain pushes through him. It's all he can do not to cry out. He knows that he's not phasing in and out like last time; somehow the energy had folded back on itself and back into him and as far as he can tell, he's time/space stable now; but he isn't totally healed, that much is obvious. He's lost too much of his life force. He needs the Doctor's Tardis, and more specifically the Zero Room, to try to repair the damage Lucy had caused...

After The Fire (2/?)

**T**he Master wakes with a start to darkness, and knows a moment's fear before he realises that the power must have either been cut or the supply has blown. Considerable time has to have passed since he lost consciousness because it had been daylight before... He forces himself to lie perfectly still while straining his ears for any sound of human activity. After two minutes he's certain enough that the room is devoid of other life and forces his muscles into action. The searing pain the movement causes leaves him feeling dizzy and gasping for breath. This won't do at all...! Gritting his teeth and snarling in pain with every movement, he rolls onto his belly and a moment later forces himself up onto his knees. The world spins sickeningly around him, made worse by the almost pitch blackness and he swallows wretchedly as the turkey he'd consumed with such desperation earlier that day threatens to reappear. Only a distant memory of having endured far worse calms him. Eventually he feels ready to resume his escape and slowly makes his tortuous way across the floor on hands and knees.

'Doctor...' he groans angrily as he's forced to stop yet again while his wrecked body tries to eject the meal it can no longer spare enough energy to deal with. 'Damn you...' a few more feet and he finally loses the battle, swearing as he crawls away from the stinking mess never to eat one of those wretched creatures again as long as he lives... which might not be very long unless he can find the Doctor's Tardis. It has to be somewhere nearby, he knows – he'd felt the shift in time-space heralding the Doctor's arrival- and since the Doctor has presumably been carted off to UNIT that leaves his Tardis available for the taking...

He senses rather than sees that he must be close to the Nuclear Bolt booth – the air is tainted by the remains of the radiation leak, and he has to admit to being slightly impressed by the Doctor's ability to absorb that much and still have the energy to groan. It will have cost him a Regeneration though; the Master can almost taste the residual artron energy and realises that the process must have started, which means the dosage can't have been lethal. Belatedly he realises that perhaps he should have done the same... but no, what is he thinking? This body is far too weak to undergo regeneration as it is right now. He has to find that Tardis...

The shrill sound of a ringing mobile stops him mid-crawl – lying just a few feet ahead of him on the floor and vibrating amongst the shards of glass around it is the mobile phone he'd taken earlier from the old man's pocket. Ignoring the protests of his weakened muscles he surges forward and snatches it up. 'Donna' the screen says.

'You again...' without thinking about it, he flips it open and holds it to his ear.

'Granddad...? Where _are_ you? Are you okay? I had this weird dream... I remember phoning you and we were both scared but I don't remember what of and we've lost a whole day – it's Christmas Sunday now and Mum and Shaun don't seem to know where you are! I'm worried about you. Please ring when you...'

'Donna?' The Master has had an idea. But he'll have to be careful... a human/time lord Metacrisis will be inherently unstable. But perhaps she knows where the Tardis is...

'Who are you? This is my Grandfather's phone – where is he?'

The Master grins in the darkness. She doesn't remember him! This might just work...

'Donna, whatever's the matter, love?' Shaun looks up in alarm as Donna rushes into the living room, her face white.

'It's Gramps – he's been arrested!'

'You what?'

'Don't be ridiculous, Donna! Why ever would anyone arrest him...?' Sylvia's voice tails off as she remembers Wilf and his nonsense about the 'Silver Cloak' – and he'd rushed off with the Doctor... 'You should be in bed, young lady,' she changes tack without so much as a blink. 'Fainting in the alleyway like that...'

'I'm fine, Mum, honestly. But he has – I've just spoken to Harold Saxon and he told me...'

'Who?'

'Harold Saxon. The old prime minister, you know...'

'You mean the chap who went loopy and killed the American President?' Shaun asks, his expression one of deep worry, which deepens at his fiancée's nod. 'Donna... he's dead.' He looks as Sylvia who stares back at him with an equally concerned expression.

'No he isn't! I've just spoken to him! He had Granddad's phone, he said he'd dropped it when the soldiers took him away.' Donna turns to Sylvia. 'Mum, you know how attached he is to that phone... he wouldn't just drop it or leave it somewhere, would he?'

Sylvia shakes her head, not knowing quite what to say to her daughter. The danger had been clearly explained to her – if Donna remembers the Doctor, her brain will burn up, killing her.

'No love,' she says, not having to feign her worry, at least. 'He wouldn't. I could ring around his friends but I daresay they've got enough on their plates at the moment without worrying about your Granddad...'

Where her father had gone with the Doctor Sylvia has no idea, but she knows it must have had something to do with the planets which had suddenly appeared in the sky... She remembers chasing Wilf as he'd gone off in the Doctor's blue box and Donna chasing out after her just moments later and herself offering some feeble explanation about why she'd been shouting at the sky like a madwoman... she also remembers going back indoors and glancing at her watch and turning to Donna to ask her to pop the turkey in the oven... 'I'm not waiting for him. If he wants to play the fool then let him!' ...and then she'd woken up to find herself weary and disorientated with a stone-cold turkey still out on the table and waiting to be carved... and a huge planet looming in the sky and worst of all, Donna missing. Shaun had found her lying out in the alleyway, frozen to the bone; presumably she'd been there for several hours. They'd brought her indoors and piled blankets and hot water bottles around her until she'd finally woken up with a start, indignant because she thinks she's slept through yet another world-shattering drama.

The television news has been full of it; planets in the sky, people waking up with no memory of where they'd been or what they'd been doing for the last twenty-four hours... All normal programming schedules have been abandoned as the whole world struggles to get to grips with the idea that everyone on Earth has slept through Christmas day and most of Christmas Sunday. Donna also has no memory at all of the last twenty-four hours, it seems, and has no idea why her Grandfather is suddenly missing. That at least is something to be thankful for, but a shaken Sylvia can't even confide in Shaun because he knows nothing of the Doctor. She and Wilf had talked at length about whether or not they should confide in him, and had come to the conclusion that it would be better all round if they said nothing. They hadn't known Shaun when the Doctor had brought her back, soaking wet and unconscious after he'd buried her memories of him. But Shaun remembers the events of that awful weekend, as does Sylvia; the attack by those hideous metal things which Wilf had told her were called 'Daleks' and the earthquakes, tsunamis and the like which had all occurred when the skies had suddenly filled with a dozen or more new planets. People had still been repairing the damage and coming to terms with all that, when what do you know, _this_ had happened. Everyone had been talking about planets and lights in the sky and aliens since that first time and Sylvia has been living in daily fear that Donna might overhear something she shouldn't. 'Not wanting to be unkind Sylvia, but while he's a sweet lad and means well, he's not exactly the sharpest tool in the box, is he?' Wilf had remarked, and Sylvia had been forced to agree. The idea that he might accidentally say the wrong thing and trigger something had seemed all too plausible. Now, with her father off goodness-only-knows-where, Sylvia finds herself stressed enough without finding out that Donna has been talking to a man whom they'd all thought dead, who seems to know what might have happened to her Grandfather.

'Arrested for _what_, for heaven's sake?'

'I don't know, Mum – but Mr Saxon says he's been out at the Naismith place, doing some work for him. And some soldiers came along and arrested Gramps. He says he tried to stop them but they beat him up and took Granddad away.'

'Who's this Naismith? And why would your Grandfather be working for him? He's retired, for heaven's sake!'

'No Mum, _Granddad_ wasn't working for Mr Naismith – Mr Saxon was! I don't know what he was doing or why Granddad was there - but apparently there was some sort of experiment going on and it went wrong. Some people got hurt and Mr Saxon was trying to sort it out when the soldiers came along and arrested him.'

'Your Grandfather...?' Sylvia repeats, because Donna is now becoming slightly hysterical and it's becoming hard to follow her.

'Yes, didn't I just say?'

'Naismith... wasn't that the name of the guy on that book you got your Granddad for Christmas? Where is it...?' Shaun casts around the untidy kitchen but draws a blank. 'Do you reckon he took it with him?'

'But why would he do that?' Sylvia is confused. 'It doesn't sound as if he's had time to do any reading if he's busy getting himself arrested...'

'Must've done... anyway look, we've got to get out there. Mr Saxon says he thinks he might be able to find Gramps but he's hurt and he needs our help...' She stands at the door, hand on hip and looks back at them impatiently. 'Well c'mon – what're you waiting for?'

'Donna love... you can't just go charging off to meet this Saxon bloke - do you even know where Naismith lives? And you've been unwell...'

'Yes, Donna – listen to Shaun, please! We've all lost a day somehow or other – we haven't slept, haven't washed, haven't eaten! And you're not well; you're as white as a sheet, look at you! Now stop this nonsense – come and sit down and we'll have a cup of tea and talk about this like rational people instead of running off all over the place like your Grandfather...'

'Don't either of you _care_ what might have happened to him?' Donna asks tearfully, but allows Shaun to lead her back to the couch. She does feel rather wobbly on her feet now that she thinks about it...

The Master has made his way rather unsteadily from the gate room and is now taking a slow and tortuous route along the corridor to where he seems to recall Naismith's office is sited. The gate itself is a useless piece of equipment now – completely burned out by the energy flowing from the time lock, its screens and girders are just so much melted and twisted scrap. The Vinvocchi hadn't even bothered to take their rubbish with them, assuming they were still alive of course. The Master wouldn't put it past the Doctor to have forced a crash-landing in his urgent quest to get back and stop Rassilon; for all his moralising the Doctor invariably seems to leave a trail of death behind him wherever he goes.

But he'd stopped Rassilon all right, hadn't he?

The Master pushes at the half-open door of Naismith's office and staggers the few feet across the polished floor to the leather-backed executive chair, his foot catching on the plush rug and almost pitching him head-first into the solid wood of the billionaire's desk. He falls into the chair and falls back against the leather, his head whirling. So what had happened to him in the time lock, why doesn't he remember it and how in Omega's Tomb had he survived? By rights and in his weakened and unstable state he should have dispersed like so much solar wind... but _of course_...! He leans forward over the desk and lays his arms on the desk and his aching forehead on them as he tries to follow the thought through. The time lock would reject anything that didn't belong; his body hadn't been in the lock when Gallifrey broke through and his presence going back would, to use the human expression, 'put a spanner in the works'. Put simply, the time lock had rejected him; spat him out like so much garbage. Which was pretty much how Rassilon had described him, wasn't it? _Diseased_. Fury wells up in his chest and he gives a strangled sob of rage at the unfairness of it all. _Betrayed by his own people whilst still a child!_

The horror of learning that the drums had merely been a tool put in his mind so long ago to allow Rassilon to escape the Time War fills him with furious humiliation; he burns with the shame of it. Oh, and he'd had _such_ grand illusions about himself and his place in the universe hadn't he? And all along he'd been Rassilon's dirty little secret. How many of those pathetic fools from the CIA and the High Council had known of this when they resurrected him to fight for them? The memories are distant now, warped by time and death and resurrection and the confounded drumming; but he imagines now that the closed faces of the elders who had solemnly declared him to be their 'best hope' had been so because they knew –they must have done- exactly why it was so important for him to be out of the Time Lock when the final day came... they'd traded on his vanity, lied to him, used him... and now discarded him.

There and then, lying with his head on his arms in Naismith's ruined mansion, the Master realises two things: if he can find a way to get back into the Time War to make Rassilon pay for what he'd done, then he's going to do it, even if it kills him; and the missing sound is so obvious that he wants to laugh except he can't because, he realises, he's crying. The drums are gone.

After The Fire (3/?)


End file.
